In a development that has sent shockwaves through the international community and caused at least three diplomats to choke on their cucumber sandwiches, the UN Commission has formally accused Israel of genocide in Gaza. The report, a 300-page dossier of such grim detail it could make a mortician weep, alleges systematic destruction, forced displacement, and collective punishment of the Palestinian population. The kind of thing that makes you wonder if the phrase 'proportional response' has been retired to a dictionary in the sky.
Britain, ever the gentleman, has responded with a measured call for an 'urgent international law review'. Not a condemnation, you understand. A review. Like when you find a suspicious stain on your sofa and you squint at it from different angles before deciding it's probably just gravy. The Foreign Office issued a statement so carefully worded it could have been written by a committee of hermit crabs: 'We note the findings with concern and urge all parties to abide by international law.' Translation: 'We've seen the footage, but we also have trade deals and a vague sense that picking sides might be awkward.'
Now, let us not pretend this is a surprise. The UN has been accusing Israel of things since before most of us could spell 'apartheid'. But genocide? That's the big one. The capital-G word. The one that makes ambassadors shuffle their feet and lawyers reach for the smelling salts. The commission's evidence is, if the leaks are to be believed, exhaustive: drone footage of flattened neighbourhoods, testimonies from medics who sound like they've seen the inside of Dante's inferno, and a body count that no amount of 'they started it' can explain away.
But what does a 'review' achieve? In the grand theatre of international relations, it is the equivalent of standing up in a crowded cinema and asking everyone to please, for the love of God, stop shooting the projector. It is a gesture. A nod. A polite cough. It does not stop bombs. It does not bring back the dead. It does not even make the gin taste less bitter.
And yet, what else is there? Sanctions? Ha. The US would veto anything stronger than a strongly worded letter. The ICC? A joke that takes so long to investigate, the victims' grandchildren will be the ones testifying. So we have a review. A committee of experts, no doubt paid handsomely, will sit in a room somewhere in Geneva and decide whether the word 'genocide' applies. As if the word matters. As if the dead care about semantics.
Meanwhile, in Gaza, the 'urgent review' will be heard as a faint whisper over the drone of fighter jets. The children who survive will learn a new word: 'review'. They will learn that it means 'nothing will change'. They will learn that the world is a place where you can be massacred on Monday, and on Tuesday, some men in suits will discuss the grammatical accuracy of the accusation.
So raise a glass, if you can stomach it, to the UN Commission, to Britain's call for a review, and to the grand tradition of doing precisely sod all while declaring yourself deeply concerned. Cheers.
